


Dokusou to ojiru (but I'll never give up)

by Glaux_Bryonia



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Marineford Events, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Gen, I think?, Inspired by Fanfiction, Klabautermann, Klabautermänner feels, Marineford AU, Marineford Arc, Portgas D. Ace Lives, Striker's captain is good at getting in trouble, TOO GOOD, feral little gremlins rescuing their precious people, pissed off klabautermann, protective klabautermann, striker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glaux_Bryonia/pseuds/Glaux_Bryonia
Summary: Striker knows something went wrong when her captain doesn’t come back. So, she decides, if her captain doesn’t come for her, she will come for her captain.And woe betide anyone who gets in her way.
Relationships: Portgas D. Ace & Striker
Comments: 39
Kudos: 365





	Dokusou to ojiru (but I'll never give up)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stereden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereden/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Kare o kaeshite (he was never yours to take)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22801303) by [stereden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereden/pseuds/stereden). 



> This can be blamed on several Klabautermann stories I have read recently, with the primary culprit being [Kare o kaeshite (he was never yours to take)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22801303) by [Stereden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereden/pseuds/stereden). Go give them some love, their stories are amazing!
> 
> Also, excuse me for my garbage Japanese in the title. I had to use translation programs so I probably butchered it. If someone knows better please correct me.

Striker knows she isn’t the most patient of vessels. It isn’t her fault.

Klabautermänner are influenced by those who breathe life into them. Usually those are more than one, making their selves a patchwork of their crew’s selves. But Striker is unusual. Unusual from her design to her captain to the soul that grew to embody her. Klabautermänner are tied to their crews. Striker is tied to her captain and her captain alone.

Once there was a chance of a second, of having a crew twice the size. But it wasn’t to be. He prefers larger vessels, vessels other than her. The only one to give her his heart is her captain.

Captain has a large heart. Calls more than just herself home. That is alright. The part of his heart she’s been given is enough, because she knows it is superior. Her captain loves Moby Dick and Spadille, but Striker is his and his alone. That exclusivity has earned her some exclusiveness of her own.

Captain has been away for a while though. If she was with Moby, or Spadille, that wouldn’t be strange. As much as he loves her, he likes stretching his legs and meeting with the rest of Spadille’s and Moby’s crews. Striker doesn’t blame him for that. Her captain is a social creature, and the crew makes him happy. She likes her captain happy.

But she isn’t with Moby. She isn’t with Spadille either. Instead she is anchored on a wild coast, not even in a proper harbour. Just pulled up just past where the tide might pull her away from the shore, right at the bottom of a path up the cliffs. Hidden entirely from sight, so none of the ones they hunt can slip past her captain and find her. He will not let her be damaged. Will not leave her lonely and defenceless without at least trying to make sure she will be safe.

Her fierce captain promised he would be back before sundown. But the sun has already set, and the stars he taught her to navigate by if her log pose ever broke are shining brightly on a velvety blue-black background.

He still isn’t back.

Striker has a bad feeling.

She feels him then. His pull. The soft shifting of the card he had given her, right next to the log pose hidden within her. She is his ship with loyalty to none but him. She should be able to find him anywhere in the world, so she had begged him for those things once she woke up properly. And to ensure she can find him and bring him home no matter where their wanderings take them, she feels the pull to her captain’s captain and the Phoenix-man too. The cards he was gifted with split with her when they were alone, hidden away in a small compartment he made in her in secret, so none but them know. Only large enough to store the log pose and the papers and feel them move.

She feels the gentle tickle of flames rise up from one of the them, and knows which card is the source. It had burned before, but for it to burn again now… Fury shivers through her frame.

Normally, her captain’s fire is what propels her across the waves. Are what feed her engine and give her speed and manoeuvrability the likes most ships can only dream of. A merging between ship and captain that goes deeper than most ships ever get the joy to know.

She has no flames. Her captain is not here.

But she is his ship, and he is in danger, and flames or no flames, her engine _roars._

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

Here’s the thing about Klabautermänner: they live for their crew, are life born _from_ their crew, and thus there is nothing more important to them than that. And when their crew is in danger they _act_.

Here’s another thing: Striker’s crew is small. Not a gathering of bright souls, but a single focal point, sharp and narrow and focused.

Most Klabautermänner have multiple planets, pulling them this way and that and ever spinning them around in different directions. Striker does not have constellations pulling on her. She only has a sun, singular and bright, and his pull is the only one she knows.

For most Klabautermänner, the needs of the many outweighs the few. But her many is still one. Her tide only runs in one direction.

This is the thing about Klabautermänner: when the needs of the many align, when the entire crew requires the same thing, there is nothing a Klabautermann cannot do. Like a leap tide with storms pushing it higher, like tsunamis of power, their usually calm turns choppy and dark, and roars with the force of the hungry deep. What gets caught in their current cannot escape. They carry their crew to safety like an inescapable ocean current, or perish in their attempt. And no human or weather or the roiling deep can stop them.

For most Klabautermänner, having the needs align so perfectly is a rare occurrence.

Striker is not most.

She is Will and Fire and one who can glide over the wildest ocean waves no matter the weather, keeping her captain safe all the while. Be he awake or asleep or occupied with something else, she keeps him _safe._

Striker is a D’s vessel and she has a will to match. And now, in this moment, she brings all her will to bear.

Her goal is clear.

Striker’s crew is in danger. Her captain, stolen from the centre of her universe and in peril.

Her tide shifts, and turns out on the sea.

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

His pull draws her forward, like a fish on the line. There is a great deal of frustration. First he was trapped in a large ship with too powerful foes watching over him, and now trapped in a stone fort, and she’s a _good ship,_ strong and swift and can even dive to seek out underwater entrances, but-

But Striker is built for speed, not stopping power. And she will need a lot of stopping power to get in and out with her captain intact. She doesn’t have the right coating either to transport her captain along the pathways she can see.

She circles like an agitated shark. So close. So close. She sees the entrances, knows she can get inside-

She hates that she can’t get closer.

Because even if she can get inside, getting her captain _out…_

Angrily, she circles again.

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

Things have changed. Her tide has shifted. They are bringing him away. Underwater, Striker grumbles as she follows.

She wants to go. Jump out of the water, scoop up her captain and _leave._

But. Again a but. She wants to _kick_ some butt, not wait around and know that going after what she wants will destroy any chance of getting it.

Her captain talks a lot to her. About a lot of things.

(Because with her, none can overhear. Even _Spadille_ can’t claim she can give their captain that kind of privacy. That kind of freedom. And the other ship may be older, and Striker may not have been entirely awake quite yet until her captain took her on this very long trip, but the smug older ship can suck on that one until she’s green!)

(Striker knows it’s in part because there was no one else to talk to, but Striker has made sure her captain knows how much she appreciates it, and how far she’ll go to keep his secrets. She is sure her captain understands she loves him with her whole self.)

Yes, he talks about things with her.

Including his Gramps.

Including things his Gramps told him, in his attempt to discourage her captain from becoming a pirate.

Including some things about the procedures during transports of dangerous criminals.

She knows her captain won’t be free to be scooped up. Will be chained to a heavy chair that is bolted down.

Striker is strong. But not strong enough to smash her way through steel (or seastone, as is likely in this case). And even if she was, with her captain _chained up-_

The risk of hurting him in the attempt is too great.

A stream of angry bubbles hisses from her engines.

A ship can get _real tired_ of being unable to save her crew.

But she is her captain’s and though she had gained a lot of characteristics from him, not the least his lack of patience and impulsivity, her captain _always_ puts his crew first. _Always_ does his best to ensure his actions won’t hurt them.

Sometimes he fails. Often due to his impatience and rashness, or simply lack of forethought.

Right here, right now, there is _nothing_ as unforgivable as to _risk failure_.

She refuses. She _refuses_.

(If her captain dies she knows she will follow. He is her one and only crew and she will _follow._ No matter _where_ he goes.)

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

Marineford is another exercise in frustration. Her captain is there, right in her view, but she _can’t reach him._

She’s a ship, she isn’t made for climbing. Her captain is right in her sight up high on the platform, _and she can’t. Reach. Him!_

And even if she could she isn’t a ship for big fights. She has no cannons, no weapons to call her own. That is her captain’s job.

Her captain, whom she can’t reach.

There is so little she can do it makes her want to howl to the skies.

To her great relief, her captain’s life does not just depend on her. She cheers when she is joined by many others. Many others that are _on her side._

There’s old Moby Dick, and Spadille, and dozens of ships Striker doesn’t know very well but knows are allies.

For a moment there is hope.

But the fighting starts and there is _ice_ , and Striker, who has been hiding underwater to escape detection has to dive quick and fast to avoid getting stuck in the Admiral’s power like so many of the other ships.

(Her captain’s crew is still so far away, there is still so much opportunity for the marines to kill him and for a moment she wishes she was built with a mouth so she can _scream-)_

The bubbles in her wake are filled with curses and expletives, and Striker _seethes._ Seethes so hard the water that runs through her engines comes out boiling, incidentally keeping the tendrils of ice from trapping her.

She comes up just in time to bear witness to the craziest stunt _ever._

The ship is not a proper ship, has little to no soul to speak of, and there is no Klabautermann there to aid the not-really-a-crew in the strangest stunt she has ever seen anyone try to pull with a ship.

It makes it all the more impressive when the ship does as is bidden and rides the frozen wave up and _launches itself into the sky._

The crew that falls out is no proper crew at all, but in the wake of her captain’s little sibling all land on the battlefield with determined shouts, at least momentarily unified in their arrival, if not in their goals. Even from the distance, the boy’s determination to save Striker’s captain burns bright as a beacon.

The ship they arrived with lies shattered around them, but that is to be expected from one so heavy and soulless. What it managed in all its lifelessness however… now _that_ is something worth consideration…

One of old Moby’s younger siblings uses their paddles to move across land only slightly more clumsily than on the waves, and a plan starts to form.

A grin that matches her captain’s most deranged expression decorates her face as Striker backs up. She’s gonna need a good run-up for this…

That is another thing about Klabautermänner. Their determination to keep their crew save is second to none. If they’re alone and crewless they will sail. If they are battered and broken they will sail. Even if all that’s holding them together is their own will, _they will sail_. Nothing is more important than their crews.

Striker finally, _finally,_ knows how to reach her captain.

The roar of her engines is as much a cheer as it is a battle cry.

_Exactly at the right time too._

A good ship always saves her crew. Even when her captain is an _idiot_ who _shouldn’t have stopped running._

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

She is in time. Only barely because backing up for the run-up she needed took seconds she didn’t think she had, but _she is in time._

Magma is coming down in a targeted wave at her captain’s back.

Striker comes down like the wrath of gods. Or at least the wrath of a small but very angry ship fuelled by a protective rage that could shame a volcano. She brings all her will to bear as she descends in a spray of ice shards and fire.

The painfully loud _thunk_ with which she strikes the red dog’s head is incredibly satisfying, even though she can already feel the burn against her hull. She is just big enough to knock him off his feet too, and the grin that decorates her face is no doubt savage.

She is just a small ship and even old Moby didn’t stand a chance against this bastard, but this man is threatening her one and only crewmember and _Striker will sink to the bottom of the ocean a hundred times over before she’ll let him harm her captain_.

With a scream of rage she manifests in humanoid form and brings her hammer down on the stunned Marine’s head with the same force her main body hit him before.

The sound it makes as it connects echoes across the silent battlefield like a gong.

“DON’T YOU DARE LAY A HAND ON MY CAPTAIN!!!”

Already, she is burning, but that is hardly noticeable. Her coat is woven flame and her face is obscured by smoke and she is _rage_ , she is _fury_ , she is _incandescent_ as she strikes the Admiral again and again and _again,_ her hammer in one hand and her anchor in the other, never letting up the barrage, her anchor chain rattling a battle song with each furious swing. She cannot leave her ship, but she doesn’t have to. She is right upon the target of her ire. She is the personification of wrath, and her violence is fuelled by a tempestuous power so great it can tear through the worst of New World storms. A power that only a Klabautermann can bring to bear in defence of their crew. All eyes are upon her as she does her level best to beat her captain’s attacker to death.

“… _Striker?!”_

With one final scream she hits the marine full force with the curved point of her anchor, gouging deep into skin and bone, before she grabs hold of her engines and roars in a different voice.

Her captain is calling, and there is no power in the world that can keep her from answering.

_“Captain!”_

With a shout and a heave of her engines, she manages to make a turn in the boiling essence of her victim. Magma is thicker than water, but she’ll be damned if she lets that matter. She drops her hammer and anchor in her interior and scoops up her captain and his silly little shipyard sibling who so kindly showed her the path to her crew. They tumble aboard in an ungraceful heap of limbs, and Striker books it as fast as she can. For a moment, the burning of her hull doesn’t matter at all.

Her captain is back on board. All is right in the world.

Of course, the world does not allow that illusion for long. And neither did the injuries she dealt the magma man keep him down.

Her humanoid manifestation is the purest form of her will, and so it is no surprise that she has no problem striking even logia when she takes on a corporeal form. But say this much for the marine dog: he’s as tough as they come, and even though her anchor very nearly gouged out his eye, he’s up and ready to attack her captain once more.

With a scoff, she pours everything she has into her engines. Without any word exchanged, her captain adds his own power to hers. The plume of flame that fires out of her exhaust pipe hits the Admiral right in the face.

(She may have aimed it just a little. Just because he really does deserve it.)

Striker smiles, and holds her captain aloft in the flood of magma that chases their heels, him and his brother both. She is built to withstand flames, and she will not flinch from the heat of liquid rock either. Not when she has a crew to sail to safety.

(Hotter than fire, what a fool. Just because her captain never tried to melt instead of scorch did not mean he is not capable of rendering rock to molten malleableness. His is the purer from of heat. He just has to learn to burn that brightly.)

(Yet even as she tells herself this she knows that she can’t bear her captain’s hottest flames either. Not for long. She can feel the magma eat at her hull and she doesn’t know how long her paddles will be able to resist the heat, no matter how well they were fireproofed.)

(But no, she won’t give up here. Her hull will hold, her paddles will hold, _she herself will hold until her captain is safe out of reach of those who would murder him._ Nothing less is acceptable.)

They roar across the battlefield. The interference of the Phoenix and Flower Sword tosses the red dog back into the fray, but that doesn’t end the chase. There is a whole army ready and willing to chase after them. The surface beneath her hull changes from molten rock to solid concrete, little stones rattling against her battered planks. Her paddles and hull screech from the friction with the ground, but Striker grits her teeth and bears with it.

Her silly captain is laughing. There is a note of hysteria in it.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Holy shit! Striker, what the _hell?!”_

“When I first awakened I swore I would never let you die at sea!” she shouted, all the worry and anger she felt for him the last few days spilling out like motor fuel from a broken vessel, lighting her engines up brighter, her corporeal form wavering now manifesting isn’t nearly as important as getting her captain _away from here_. “I refuse to let you die here either!”

And she won’t, she won’t. No matter how broken or battered her hull, she _will not_ _ever_ let her captain sink. Not as long as she has so much as the most pitiful plank to call her own.

Her captain’s face is doing something strange that means he’s all tangled up inside over something. He swallows with some difficulty.

“You are amazing,” he says with so much sincerity that Striker knows that if she was capable of it she would blush a brighter red than the apples her captain likes to steal.

Despite everything, for a second, Striker almost feels like she’s back at sea, with no other worry than whether her captain will do something stupid and she’ll need to dive after him. She let her manifestation linger for a moment. The look she gives her captain reflects the warmth that radiates through her whole being.

“Idiot. You are my captain. Of course I came for you.”

Her captain’s little brother laughs too, bright and full of cheer. He looks as battered as she feels, yet is smile is bright enough to outshine the sun.

“You’re really cool, miss Ship!” he shouts. “I like you!”

Striker laughs too, letting her manifestation collapse in favour of pouring her strength into speed and endurance. She’s glad to meet him again, and glad she’s saving him too. His Merry ship would be devastated if he lost him, Striker knows.

She will bring him home too. She will make sure of it.

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

The crowds of pirates part for them with a cheer. Striker and her cargo thunder across concrete and ice and finally reach the water. There is a hole in her hull from where the light marine almost hit her captain and his brother. Her mast is badly damaged from too many shots fired in her direction. Exhaustion drags at her. But Striker knows she can’t let up. Not unless her captain is miles and miles away from this island will he be out of the marines’ reach. The journey has only barely started.

So Striker gathers herself, despite feeling like she is falling to pieces, cracks opened deep by the burn of magma. She can’t falter now.

She knows that she might not be able to complete the voyage she is about to start, but she can’t let that stop her. She doesn’t have _time._

Striker hits the waves with a splash that is far too big for her tastes.

(She had hoped that when her captain had grown old and gone to sleep she would be allowed to carry him to the deep and join Davy Jones together. Moby and Spadille had never minded the company. She hoped the Dutchman wouldn’t either.)

(To sail down when he had nothing left to fear from the ocean anymore, that seemed wonderful.)

(But not here. Not now. She isn’t ready for that voyage yet, and neither is he.)

(But, if needs must, she’ll undertake that voyage alone.)

(Not with him. Never with him unless he’s as grey and old as the one he claims as his shipwright, and only ever if he wishes so. Never when he’s still young and still has so much of his life before him.)

(She won’t allow it.)

Behind her, there’s a different splash, but she can’t be bothered to check on it. She’s faster than any swimmer anyway, no matter how good the person who jumped after her is.

In the distance, she sees Spadille shake and rage. The other ship screams something, but Striker doesn’t pay her any attention. Spadille is not important right now anyway. Knowing the other ship’s crew her captain is captain of, Spadille will have to wait until all of hers are aboard her again anyway. And while Spadille’s crew would forgive her if she left them ashore to go rescue their mutual captain, Striker knows Spadille won’t as long as Striker doesn’t falter.

(Quietly, she scoffs to herself. Striker is glad for only having one crewmember right now. If she was suffering from split loyalties right now she would never be able to get her captain to safety.)

(Let all the big ships have their bigger crews. At least Striker will never have to choose which crewmember to aid with her actions. Will never be torn to the point of inaction. Will never have to watch one slip away without being able to chase with her whole heart and soul.)

(She has her captain. He is all she needs.)

The water flows beneath her, and she can _feel_ every crack and hole in her hull. She’s not seaworthy in any way, but there’s no turning back now.

Good thing she’s fast.

Her captain understands her struggle, and pours a truly spectacular amount of flame into her engine. With his fire and her will, she shoots forward far faster than she normally does. The sheer friction lifts her up, pushes against her until she’s gliding _upon_ the water, not through, decreasing her contact with the water. She can feel both the leaking and the drag of the deeps decrease. 

She won’t be able to do this for long, she knows. The friction of the waves is biting at her injuries, prying cracks further open. She is so, so afraid. She took a jump over the abyss without knowing where the ravine ends, and if she gambled wrong here, she will have killed her own captain.

She can only hope that further out, there’s backup waiting. Striker knows, _knows,_ that most of the Moby’s commanders are too smart not to ensure they leave an escape route open. She hopes they have secured it with the less powerful allies. They have to have.

As if answering a prayer she didn’t voice, something comes up from the deep. Some _ship._

And, if she guesses right, it isn’t a marine ship. No way would the marines have passed up the opportunity to attack the Whitebeard fleet from below if they had a ship that could dive like this one.

The other ship surfaces, and Striker can tell the yellow submarine is a pirate's ship. She has seen that symbol in one of the papers her captain had shown her, even though she can’t recall which crew it is.

Seems like they will tell her though.

A hatch pops open, and a head pops out. It yells something, but Striker needs all her attention to stay afloat and thus doesn’t hear a word. But she does feel it when her captain directs her to the other ship. Seeing no other option and trusting his judgement (despite everything, she loves her captain, loves his temper and his stubbornness regardless of all the trouble it brought them, and will trust him with all her heart and soul), she lets herself slow down and veer off course.

“- Got ya, Fire Fist-ya. I swear on my flag that I only want to help you-“

“- Luffy is badly hurt –“

“- doctor –“

Striker doesn’t hear much, but she knows when her captain makes his decision. And though she’s too tired to listen to a stranger, her captain she will always hear.

“That’s it Striker, you did _amazing,_ come on, I’ll anchor you to the sub and when we get to shore we’ll fix you right up, okay? Just hang on, Striker-“

Striker knows what those words mean. Knows and understands.

Safe. Her captain will enter a ship that allows him to hide underwater, safely out of reach of all the normal ships. All of Striker shivers with relief. She feels the rattle of her anchor chain as it is thrown to one of the people on the other ship.

“I won’t let him get caught,” the other ship promises her, as her captain’s little brother is lifted up to the other crew to take. The boy is sluggish and past the point of collapse. Only his sheer will to see Striker’s captain safe has kept him going. Striker can sympathise. 

Striker is too tired to ask for a name. But a mumbled ‘thank you’ she just manages to get out.

“My captain is a good man. And smart too,” the other ship tells her, as if sensing her lingering worry about her captain’s wellbeing. Then again, what ship wouldn’t be worried or upset if they were in the same situation? Her captain is the only crew she has.

The ship continues talking, even as reaching hands stretch out to her captain. “He wants to use his aid as a trade for support and information. My captain has no wish to court the wrath of your captain’s crew. I myself will do everything I can to keep your captain and my crew out of the marines’ hands. Your captain is as safe as he can be. I promise on my crew.”

The moment her captain’s feet leave her deck Striker feels herself start to sink.

Striker can’t speak anymore, but the reassurance is nice. Her captain, safe. Yes. That’s exactly what she wants, everything she could ever need.

She feels herself start to drift. Her will that held her together till now is weakening, and Striker can feel every bit of damage she was dealt. Part of her is regretful. She wants to be there till the end, descend the deathless deeps together with her captain when he has reached the end of his life. But even though she can’t sail her captain proudly to the Flying Dutchman herself, this is alright. She has done what she was built for and kept her captain safe. She might not be able to carry him any longer, will never sail the final stretch of his journey with him, but she is sure Moby’s and the unknown submarine’s crews will ensure he’ll come home properly.

Yes. This is alright.

Darkness is descending on her fast now, worse than the depths beneath her can account for. She can feel parts of herself drift away as the submarine dives down, her chain only barely succeeding in towing her along. Vaguely, she feels something like webbed hands against her broken and burned hull, but she is too far gone to be sure.

She really hopes the Flying Dutchman won’t mind the company while she waits for her crew…

XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX(xxxx)XXX

“-think this is enough?”

“-‘t know, just have to wait and-“

“-shame though-“

Striker doesn’t blink like a human would upon waking. She just slowly starts to register sensations.

The first things she registers are this: her senses are muddled and everything from her hull to her mast to her sail feels heavy as if there’s a mountain resting upon her.

Not quite awake, she stretches her senses, taking stock of herself.

Foreignness echoes back at her. As if she has been gutted and turned inside out, or something similar drastic. As if she doesn’t quite fit her own hull anymore.

But familiarity echoes back too. While a lot feels like it has been replaced, some parts of her are still herself. Are still the self she remembers.

And…

A familiar hand rests against her wood.

A very familiar hand.

_Her captain!_

In an instant, she is fully awake.

She feels weak and tired, scraped raw as if someone was far too thorough when scraping the barnacles from her underside, but even with as little energy she has, there is no way she can remain dormant.

Because she _remembers_ and there is nothing as important as seeing her captain right here, right now.

With a flare of pitiful strength she manifests herself, wrapping her captain up in the strongest hold she can before she is entirely solid.

There is a very familiar yelp, followed by a cry of relief.

“Striker! You made it!”

Striker laughs, deliriously happy. “Captain! You made it too!”

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re a damn tough lady! I didn’t think you’d make it even with the pieces Jinbe saved, but here you are, proving me wrong! Welcome back!”

Striker looks up, right at the petite frame of Spadille’s shipwright. Six looks pleased as punch while at the same time looking like she has had a _very_ busy few days. The other Spades behind her cheer.

Just a bit out of the coast sits Spadille herself, radiating pride and gratitude and shouting loudly how fucking happy she is to see Striker awake, foul-mouthed as ever. Moby Dick’s voice is faint, but despite the state Striker saw the old ship in last, Moby too, manages a whispered ‘welcome back’. More ships include their welcome, even the unknown submarine.

Striker could burst from happiness. She’s glad that the ships she has to share her captain with are good ones.

“Whoa! Ship Lady! Lady Ship! You’re back!”

There is a boy right there with her captain. Her captain’s brother, Striker remembers. He had fought very hard to save her captain, so Striker gives him a wide smile. “I’m back!”

She gets a bright ‘shishishi’ in return, and then rubbery limbs wrap around her captain and her. It is strange to be touched by one not her own, one she doesn’t even really know, for all that she has spent a few hours anchored to the Going Merry. But his touch is warm. It is the touch of someone who can love a ship not his own with his whole heart, just because they belong to someone he cares about.

She decides she really likes her captain’s brother. She is glad she got him out.

“You’re really cool, Ship Lady! I’m glad Ace has a ship as good as you,” he exclaimed. “Merry saved us too, even though he was already broken. We couldn’t save him like they did you though. But Franky transferred his spirit! Now he’s almost as small as you!”

“I remember him,” Striker says, feeling sadness for the Going Merry. But at the same time, she is happy for the sheep-headed ship. To be so valued as to have your entire physical form restructured just so your crew can keep you with them… any ship wishes to be loved like that.

She is so, so glad her captain loves her like that.

She doesn’t know yet what changes were made, what parts of her were replaced to rescue her, but no matter what they are, as long as she can still sail with her captain she will never care.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Striker,” her captain says. His voice is tight in a way she hasn’t heard from him often, but knows despite that. She tightens her grip.

“I’m glad you’re okay too,” she tells him. “Please never get caught again.”

Her captain chokes out a laugh. “I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

Good enough, Striker decides. So she holds him, and let him cry his relief on her shoulder, and decides to stay in her humanoid form for a while longer no matter how tired it makes her or how many strange questions her captain’s shipyard sibling comes up with.

She will do anything for her captain.

.

.

.

.

**Omake:**

“Ace! Ace, Ace, come look! You won’t believe it-!”

“What? What won’t I believe?”

Six’s grin is very wide and very gleeful when she presents him with a wanted poster.

Ace takes it, and promptly bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, Pops, look! Striker, Striker, come look, you have a _wanted poster!”_

Striker manifests and glances out from beneath the tarp that covers her. At her questioning look Ace proudly holds up her poster.

Other Whitebeards hear the yelling and come over to see what all the excitement is about. The Phoenix leans over Striker’s shoulder as she studies her poster. She can’t really believe it. She has a _poster_. Not even the Oro Jackson ever got her _own poster._

The Phoenix whistles. “Not a bad sum at all.”

“Not bad? It’s freaking amazing!” Six yells happily. “The first ship with a wanted poster, and it’s that high!”

Striker feels her grin start to grow, and meets the proud eyes of her captain. She laughs. She looks at her poster again and grins very widely. She doesn’t know values very well, but six numbers is pretty good. She knows her captain has nine. She laughs again when she realizes something.

“Spadille is gonna be _so jealous!”_

**Author's Note:**

> I researched hydroplaning in speedboats for this story. Though I did write it, I really would not advice using a boat with a damaged hull, and especially not to use it at high speeds. Living One Piece Ships pulling crazy stunts aside, that shit is dangerous.


End file.
